


Breathing in Snowflakes

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Category: A Song of Ice And Fire/ASOIAF, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, F/M, Lots of Angst, Romance, Snow, Viserion Deserved Better, fairly non-graphic injury, fairly slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 00:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: The wight hunt goes wrong and Jon and Dany find themselves trapped north of the wall, in enemy territory with no one they can trust except for their grudging respect for each other. Now they have to make it back to Eastwatch while dealing with White Walkers, injuries, Viserion's death, and unexpected feelings.





	Breathing in Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> I should really not have started another multi chapter since there's still so much to go in FaA, but the plot bunnies will never be satisfied...but I'm really going to try to keep this one to twelve chapters or less. Just enough time for them to get back to the Wall, lol. 
> 
> Disclaimer: don't own, am just playing
> 
> Based on a prompt I got on my tumblr (blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice). Lots and lots of stories over there and I'm always writing more ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

The scream, when he fell, went through her like a physical knife. She felt it in her rib cage. She felt her heart break. She might have been screaming in rage and disbelief and unimaginable pain, but she couldn't tell because she was moving through a fog. Her sweet boy, her middle son, the prince of her heart...anyone but him. 

She was moving before she was conscious of it, scrambling off Drogon’s back and landing on the ground unsteadily. It was snowy; she sank nearly to her calves in the white powder, feeling it spill down her boots and soak her pants. Gods, she hated snow. But she barely felt the bite of the cold, because all that mattered in that moment was getting to Viserion, no matter the cost. He couldn’t die. There had to be a way to save him. And even if there wasn’t, she wouldn’t let him die alone. Not the sweet little dragon who had trusted her endlessly, until the moment the chains closed around his neck. Not the one who sat on her shoulder even when the others had gotten more savage, refusing to play their games of dominance. 

She heard Jorah yell “Khaleesi!” from somewhere behind her but it barely registered because Viserion’s body hit the lake’s surface with earth shattering force that knocked her to her knees-and then she couldn’t stand, because there was so much blood leaking out from the wound in his side. She’d never seen a dragon bleed. She never thought she’d have to. 

They bled like humans did. 

A scream caught in her throat but she couldn’t force it out; it hovered there, choking and killing her. She wanted to scream for him, for her, for all of them-but she was silent. It felt as if she could prevent this from happening, if she just stayed quiet. She clenched her hands into fists, feeling her nails bite into her palm, digging into the ice. The pain kept her grounded, even as a wave of panic threatened to wash her away. 

He sank so fast she barely saw the light leave his eyes, barely saw his blood turn the icy water red...the water closed over his head and she knew that he was gone. This time the scream did come bursting out and it frightened her with its intensity-it sounded like the world was ending. Though maybe it was. Maybe it already had, because what could possibly survive in this barren wasteland? Not hope, not love. Not life. 

There was a hand on her shoulder and she fought against it, until she realized that it was Jon. “Come on!” He was half pulling her to her feet, dragging her upwards through the snow. “We have to leave!” What was he talking about, she wondered briefly. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel a rising hysteria bubbling up inside of her… “Daenerys!” 

The sound of her name snapped her out of it somewhat and she gripped his hand like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the world around her. “Viserion…”

Jon pulled her the rest of the way up, holding her against him so she wouldn’t fall again because she didn’t think her legs could support her own weight. He could feel his heart thrumming against her back, quick and fast and frightened. But Viserion would never have a heartbeat, his heart would never beat again...oh gods, what had she done? What had she allowed to happen? 

She looked towards the Night King again. He stared at her impassively-and then she noticed there were other spears on his back. Two of them-other spears for her other children. 

Something inside her broke and hardened again, hard as black ice. She stood, yanking away from Jon, and turned to Drogon who was still waiting for her obediently-and Rhaegal, flying in circles and keening loudly. She had to protect them, before anyone else. “Sovetes! Fly, both of you!" 

Rhaegal shot away like he’d been shocked by a hot coal, disappearing into the maelstrom of snow and ice coalescing above them. She knew he would be all right; he just had to get back to Eastwatch, only to Eastwatch, and then he’d be safe-and he was so good at flying, so fast, so amazingly agile in the air, always following his brothers, always ready for a good time...But Drogon didn’t leave. He still looked at her, waiting for her to come to her senses and be rescued...but she was too far away and he was running out of time… “Go! Sovetes! Fly!” She couldn’t lose him too-not on top of everything else. 

The Night King raised his spear...and then Drogon took off in a cloud of wind and snow, disappearing into the sky above with one last loud scream. She felt herself sag with relief and nearly fell; whatever happened next, at least he would be safe. And that was what mattered. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The world seemed to fall away-the snow and the ice soaking through the collar of her shirt, the White Walkers circling ever closer and closer closing in on their prey, the Night King watching impassively, and Jon shoving her behind him so he could protect her. Weak winter light glittered off the edge of his sword; like a baby with a shiny bauble, it caught her attention. But even that was a distraction. There was something buried beneath the ice, something that could never be repaired. Hadn’t she already lost so much? How could the gods see fit to take more, to take something so precious? 

For just a moment, she wanted to die. She wanted to fall to her knees in the snow and never get up. A mother does not flee without her children, she thought. All of them. 

There was a blow to the center of her back and she fell to the snow again. She turned to see one of the wights had reared up behind her, a sword of ice raised high; for a moment she felt nothing but relief that it would all be over-and then it exploded into tiny icy crystals that were whisked away by the wailing wind. Jon yanked his sword free and pulled her upwards again; her struggles felt weak and useless against his strength. “Did it hurt you?” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.

She shook her head, still feeling distant. He looked like he was going to say something else but just then he whirled around and decapitated another two wights who had tried to sneak up on him. There were so many; the ground was covered with them, and it was only a matter of time before they overran them completely. Would they die here? Was there any way they couldn’t, now that their only escape had quite literally flown away? 

“Your Grace.” She could hear that Jon was fighting to keep his voice steady, turning so he was facing her. They were facing a break in between waves of the enemy and even though his grip on his sword didn’t lessen his eyes seemed to soften. “I know you’re distraught but I need you to fight if we’re going to get out of this alive and go back to Eastwatch.” 

“I don’t have a sword-”  
He reached into his belt and pulled out a dagger; it was only when he pressed the hilt into her hands and curled her fingers around it that she realized her hands were nearly frozen. “It’s not the best, but it’s Valyrian steel. It kills them.” She tried to pull away but his fingers dug into her hand, not letting go until her eyes met his. “A little longer, your Grace. Please.” 

She wanted to shake her head. Couldn’t he see how pointless this was? Didn’t she know that her child was dead? She wanted him to go, to leave her behind...but she knew that he wouldn’t, even if she begged. He was a battle commander, used to war-she had no doubt she wasn’t the first frightened soldier he’d had to force to keep fighting. And she was too precious of an ally to lose. “How-”

“We’ll figure it out.” And he sounded so determined that she almost believed him, for a moment. “But I need you to focus-” The next wave of their enemies broke over them and he swore and raised his sword again. She raised her dagger, out of reflex. It felt cold in her hands, unnatural. She was so unused to fighting. How had she never learned? How had she never even thought that something like this could happen, that she would be caught alone and defenseless in enemy territory? 

She lost her footing on the snow and fell, nearly cutting her hand open with the knife-but before she could scramble back to her feet she felt something grab her hair and yank and she screamed from the sudden sharp pain of it-

-just as the ice broke and Jon fell underwater. 

It was so unexpected that for a moment she couldn’t tell what had happened. One minute he’d been there and the next...he was gone. Then she saw the hole in the ice and a wave of red hot rage rushed through her-the Night King had already taken something from her today. She wouldn’t let him take something else. 

It spurred her into action and she struck back blindly with her knife, rewarded with a cry of pain and a loosening on her hair. She kicked out hard and scrambled away, moving towards the place where he’d gone in. She was the blood of the dragon, she remembered sharply. She hadn't survived so much only to die like this. 

There were even more wights around the rim of the pool and she had to knock them aside; their bones cracked where she kicked at them and a few tried to grab her but she slashed out at them with the dagger and they fell away, afraid of the threat more than any of her real skill (or lack of it). She forgot to be scared; they were in her way and she would defeat them like she would defeat any of her other enemies. All that mattered was getting to Jon and getting back to her children; she had to be sure they were all right. There was too much still to be done if she died now, too many reasons to keep on living. 

Jon hadn’t yet resurfaced and that worried her more than anything else. 

She fought her way to the water’s edge, aware at all times that the ice might break under her too, and thrust her hand in. The water was bitterly cold, like knives cutting into her skin. “Lord Snow! Jon!” He couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be too late. 

She grasped something and pulled-only to see another wight, who screamed at her and bit her hand. She recoiled and let go, almost falling in the water herself in shock-but she somehow managed to stay upright, fingers digging into the snow. “Jon!”

For a terrible moment she didn’t hear anything-and then someone drew in a loud, ragged breath and Jon’s head appeared above water. His hair was plastered to the back of his head, already beaded with snow and bits of ice and he glanced around him in confusion-but when his eyes focused on her they were remarkably clear. He lunged forward and she grabbed for his hand; it was wet and slippery but she didn’t dare let go. 

“Daenerys…” He inhaled again, shuddering from the cold, and pulled himself out. Somehow they managed it, even though they were both half frozen (Jon especially). His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak and she had to use all of her strength to pull. Once or twice his hand threatened to slip but she held on. She told herself it was because he was her best chance at escape-but she knew at least part of it was because she didn’t want him to die. Not here, and especially not now when she’d still barely gotten to know him. 

“A little longer, Lord Snow. Please.” It was all she could do to keep her voice steady, when it felt like breaking like everything else. He could barely stand; she draped his arm across her shoulders and helped him walk, not looking at him as they took one step and then another. She already knew that it would be no use, but gods be damned she was going to try. “Just a little longer.” 

Suddenly a loud whinny cut through the air and she swung around to see a rider riding towards him-on a live horse. He came to a stop in front of them and extended a hand-his eyes glanced over Dany carefully but she could tell he didn’t know who she was; they settled on Jon. “Come on!” 

Jon looked like he was trying hard to focus, eyelids flickering. “Uncle Benjen?” 

“Come on, girl!” The man was holding his hand out to her frantically, practically shaking it in her face. “You do want to live, don’t you?” She wanted to go with him, almost took his hand-but it occurred to her suddenly that it could have been a trap and she hesitated. 

“It’s all right!” Jon shouted. “He’s my uncle! I know him!” 

She grasped his hand before she could think better of it. It was cold and rough-but pulsed with the warmth of the living. He swung her up on his horse, whose white eyes rolled with fear, as if she weighed nothing less than a child. Then he turned to Jon. “Your turn.”

“But Uncle…” Something passed between them, something she couldn’t quite understand, and then the man leapt from the horse and Jon climbed up in front of her. “Hold on to me,” he muttered, and she buried her hands in the sides of his fur coat-as much for his benefit as for hers. He’d begun to sway slightly, and he could barely talk because his teeth kept chattering. 

“Go!” Benjen yelled, drawing out his sword. “Now! While you still can!” 

The horse bolted, its hooves slipping on the hard packed ice until it caught its balance. Jon twisted back to look at his uncle but he’d already been swallowed by the wights; for a moment Dany felt sorry for him, because she knew better than anyone what it was like to lose the people she was closest to. She had today. Snow stung her face and she bent her head as they raced into the wind, horse moving like quicksilver. For a moment she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe, they could still get out of this. At the very least, they’d bought themselves a little extra time. If they’d gotten this far, maybe they could get a little farther. 

Jon had started shivering again, tremors running through his entire body. It shook her to her core and she held on tighter, as if she could send warmth to him. He was too cold. Gods be good. Seven hells. Fuck. 

They’d left the wights behind now and they were racing through a dismal white landscape, leaping small rock outcroppings and passing through copses of trees that all looked exactly the same. How far were they from the Wall? She didn’t know. They could be minutes, or days. On dragonback it was only a short flight but now...now they could be anywhere, with the enemy surrounding them. She was more frightened than she could ever remember being. She never thought she’d ever felt quite so certain that she was going to die. They were both going to die. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know who she was talking to-the list of people she’d let down was suddenly so long…

Jon swayed and almost fell off the horse but she held on tight until he regained his balance. He was freezing; his chest barely rose and fell and his skin was barely warmer than the snow around them. She knew that if she didn’t find some shelter and soon… “Come on,” she whispered. “Only a little farther.” 

Something reared up at them out of the gathering darkness and she realized too late that it was a wight. Its sword went cleanly through the horse’s neck and it fell to the ground in a puddle of its own blood and she had to pull Jon out of the way so he wouldn’t be crushed underfoot. He was barely alert but he grabbed a sword and pulled himself to his feet; his face hardened the way it always did in battle as he cut through the wight’s heart-or where its heart should have been. 

And then he swayed unsteadily and fell to the ground. 

Dany made to run to him, still hoping against hope she wouldn’t be too late, but before she could reach him there was a sharp stabbing pain in her back and she was practically thrown to the ground. Her skin was on fire and she screamed as she pulled away from the wight. It was horrific-flesh sagging from its ruined jaw and pure hatred in its eyes. She grabbed out wildly behind her, hand finally landing on the hilt of Jon’s sword-and with some strength she hadn’t known she possessed she pushed it through the wight’s neck. It made a horrible wailing sound as it died, as she flicked ice and dried blood out of her face. 

She got to her feet unsteadily and ran to Jon’s side, pulling him to his feet. They had to get out, had to find shelter, had to regroup and make a plan...the wasteland was icy and cold and she had no idea where sky ended and snow began because both were so unendingly white. 

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark spot-on closer inspection, she realized it was a cave, tucked into the edge of the wasteland. For a moment it occurred to her that there could have been anything inside of it-bears, more Walkers, maybe even other ice dragons-but she pushed that aside because if they didn’t get out of the snow soon they were both going to die. 

The cave was dark and shallow but it went back a fair distance-and most importantly, it was uninhabited. She helped Jon to the very back wall and slumped down next to him, suddenly feeling exhaustion ringing in every bone in her body. The cold had begun to seep into the center of her very being; she had started shivering now, and it felt like she would never be able to get warm again. It felt like she’d forgotten what being warm felt like, how it felt to have the sun on her face and sand beneath her feet. 

She would have given anything to go back to Dragonstone, right then. Sooner or later the others would realize that they weren’t going to come back and then...what would Tyrion say? What would her people, the people she’d fought so hard to protect, do then? She’d failed them. She’d failed Viserion. 

Fire. That was the most important thing. They would die of exposure before they died of anything else. She tried to remember...there were other things in the cave, bits of dried brush, leaves, stones, even a few bones. She grouped them all in a shallow pit, sent prayers to every god she could think of, and tried to start the fire. Her hands felt near frozen; the first time she tried the sticks fell out of her hands and she had to start again. But she didn’t dare stop, even for a moment, because Jon was counting on her. 

It still took longer than it should have; by the time she was finished her hands were scraped raw. The flame was tiny, but it pulsed strongly and she built it up with the brush until it blazed merrily. She knew that it might have been a sign to their enemies, letting them know exactly where they were, but it was a chance she would have to take. Right now the warmth was the most important thing; nothing else mattered. She moved Jon so he was lying closest, undoing the front of his heavy fur jacket. It was soaked with blood; she was no healer, she wasn’t sure how much of it was his or how bad any of his injuries were. But that could be handled later, when they weren’t both in danger of freezing to death. 

Satisfied, she moved as close to the fire as she could. She held her hands in front of it, waiting through the painful burn of her limbs coming back to life again as they warmed until she could finally feel them again. Now that the adrenaline was burning away, everything hurt-the scratches in her back, cuts that she couldn’t remember getting. The exhaustion was bone deep and her very soul felt completely exhausted. And even after all of this, how could she be sure any of it would be enough and she wouldn’t die as she slept? 

She wanted to take first watch until Jon woke up again, but the flickering patterns the fire made on the roof of the cave lulled her into unconsciousness and the roar of her mind went blissfully quiet.


End file.
